The Vault
by LucidRush
Summary: A place where I can store ideas for fics that I'll probably never dedicate the time to really fleshing out. Let me know if you want to make any of these into a full story.
1. Lucky Shot

Okay, this is where I'm going to upload any little idea that pops into my head. None of these are going to be very long, just little bits to get something started. If anyone wants to use one of the ideas and make it into a full fic, go ahead, just let me know so I can keep track of it.

* * *

Spellfire and sparks arced across the darkened Ministry atrium, chipping away at the tiled floors and walls throwing dust and rubble into the air.

Harry sat, his back to the ruined Fountain of Magical Brethren. The atmosphere felt oppressive and unbearable as if it were bearing down on him.

It was unbelievable, the amount of power these two weilded with simple flicks of their wands. Each breath was a struggle for Harry as he stared at the fierce combat Dumbledore and Voldemort were locked in.

Gouts of flames extinguished by conjured water and killing curses deflected by whatever bits of junk could be summoned.

To most, it would appear that these two were completely even, but Harry could see it, the tide of battle was turning.

A sheen of sweat shone on Dumbledore's head as he deflected another Unforgivable Curse.

"Give up, you feeble old man!"

Another killing curse snapped from the end of the Dark Lord's wand, halted mere inches from the tiring headmaster by wooden desk.

Harry felt his heart clench when Dumbledore stagged back from the exploding wood. A banishing charm knocked him onto his back, his wand sliding across the battle-scarred floor.

He had to do something. Anything.

Harry's hands closed around the closest thing he could find, a hefty piece of rubble from the fountain.

Voldemort carefully aimed his wand, a smirk played out on his lipless mouth.

Staggering to his feet Harry chucked the stone as hard as he could, the jagged rock soaring across the atrium, slamming into the side of the Dark Lord's skull with a loud thump.

His head whipped to the side and he fell to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. His wand slipped from his, now twitching, fingers and rolled away.

Harry sagged back against the fountain as Dumbledore struggled to his feet and carefully approached Voldemort, his recovered wand held tight in his bony hand.

A bewildered look crossed his wrinkled features before turning to Harry, eyes twinkling.

"He's dead, Harry."

* * *

This came to me while I was thinking about Voldemort and his Horcruxes. Yeah, his soul can't leave this plane as long as they exist but his body can definitely be killed as proven by his defeat by baby Harry. I don't think he'd be able to survive a serious head wound.


	2. Nova

This idea came to me while I was watching Harry Potter and thinking about the regeneration aspect of Doctor Who.

* * *

With all the times he had come close to dying, Harry Potter thought that he knew what to expect. He'd laugh if the pain radiating from his chest wasn't so excruciating.

Between the basilisk, the dementors, Nagini's venom, and that last killing curse less than an hour ago he expected it to be over before he could feel anything, if he was lucky, or the pain to ebb away as he slowly fell asleep.

Nothing could ever be easy, could it? Voldemort had gotten one last curse off before he had been killed by his rebounded spell and it had caught Harry just as he caught the Elder Wand.

A shimmering black bolt that tore through every layer of clothing like it was nothing and completely shredding the flesh on Harry's torso. The pain was so intense he couldn't even scream and with every heartbeat he lost more blood and agony lanced across his chest.

"Harry! It's going to be alright, Ron's gone to get help!" He felt someone press a cloth, probably her jumper, onto the ragged wound. The pressure stings and makes him feel light-headed.

He turns his head slightly, just enough to see his impromptu medic and through the flecks of blood on his glasses he can make out his best friend.

"Hermione?" His own voice sounding raspy and he can taste iron and bile.

"Don't say anything, Harry, I'm not going to lose you." She presses a little harder on his wound, trying to stop the flow of blood while mumbling spells under her breath and waving her wand with her free hand.

It didn't seem to be helping though as a fresh wave of boiling agony raced along his vains. Every muscle in his body clenched and he felt his mouth open in a silent scream as he screwed his eyes shut.

Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire, his bones felt like they were cracking, and his skin felt as if any army of insects marched beneath it, but within seconds, it was over. No more pain.

"Harry?" Finally cracking open his eyes he looked towards Hermione again. She was sitting a few feet from him, her hands were caked in blood, his blood he thought with a wince, and her face was extraordinarily pale.

"Hey, Hermione." It was little more than a whisper. Slowly sitting up, he ran his hands down his front, the skin there was whole and unblemished.

"Looks like you were able to heal me with whatever that was."

She slowly crawled towards him. Her shaky hand cupping his cheek.

"Is that...is that you?" She sounded like she was seconds from hysterics.

"'Course it's me." He frowned, his voiced sounded different, a bit deeper.

"Finite Incantatem." She flicked her wand towards him.

"What's going on Hermione?" She repeatedly was swishing her wand back and forth, and around his head muttering spell after spell. She finally seemed to give up and plopped down onto her bottom.

"I...I don't know." She said after a moment and conjured a small hand mirror. "Just take a look."

Staring back at him was someone Harry didn't recognize. Very short, brown hair that seemed lightly spiked, grey eyes, lightly tan, and no scar adorned the features of this new person.

Running his free hand through his hair, he let out a shaky breath, a little trail of golden dust escaping from his mouth before he clamped it shut. Reaching out to touch his reflection, he paused. There on the back of his hand, glowing gold was the mark of the Deathly Hallows.

He threw the mirror as hard as he could, watching it bounce a little as it shattered in the rubble of the courtyard.

* * *

I'm gonna try and get a new ficlet in here every few days. What'd you think? As always, if you want to take it, send me a PM so I can follow it. Also take some time to review, letting me know what you think.


	3. Frayed

Just a little idea that popped into my head and decided to type it out.

* * *

Neville's feet slapped noisily against the stone floor as he raced down the seventh floor corridor, the bundle in his arms whimpering with every step. He knew he shouldn't have left her in the library alone.

"Neville..." She groaned, shakes wracking her body, fingers clenched tightly onto his robes.

"Easy Hannah, we're almost there." He pushed himself a little harder, he could see the portrait of Barnabus the Barmy now.

"'t hurts." She mumbled, her back arching as another wave of pain lanced through her. Her wiggling almost knocking Neville to the floor. He stumbled but quickly caught himself.

He couldn't afford to slow down now, he had no idea how long he had left before either the Carrows or one of their pet students came after him. Hopefully they'd be too busy putting Crabbe and Goyle back together to start chasing him right away.

Finally making it to the blank stretch of wall by the portrait of the dim wizard trying to teach trolls to dance, he gently set Hannah down, nearly snarling when she curled into the fetal position, a low groan slipping through her lips.

Pacing in front of the wall, back and forth three times, he focused on where they needed to be.

_I need the headquarters of Dumbledore's Army. I need the headquarters of Dumbledore's army. I need the headquarters of Dumbledore's army. _

A simple wooden door phased into existence, a rough lightning bolt was etched into the surface. Neville quickly knocked a pattern onto the wood and snatched Hannah into his arms, barreling into the Room of Requirement. There were a few students milling around, some younger years getting medical treatment from their older peers, others anxiously waiting for their friends to be healed, and others catching up on sleep in a place where they didn't have to fear stray curses or poison.

Neville propped Hannah onto the nearest empty couch and shrugged his robe off, fluffing it into a makeshift pillow and gently guiding her onto it.

"Seamus!" He bellowed, his voice carrying over hushed conversations and shocking other students, like the now glaring Lavender Brown, awake.

"Oi Neville, you're back!" Seamus popped over to the couch, the smile on his bruised face quickly falling into a pinched, barely restrained anger and concern as he saw Hannah's writhing form.

"I need you to go on a run." Neville gently slid Hannah's robe off her, gently kneading her arms and shoulders to relieve the pain, something he knew would help, barely holding in his own wince at his remembered pain.

"'Course mate, Cruciatus relief?"

"And pepper-up. We're gonna need it."

Seamus took off, the door to the Room of Requirement slamming shut as he ran towards the infirmary. Neville turned back to Hannah, the shakes easing a bit under his massage.

"Thank you, Neville." She brushed her hand down his arm and gripped his hand tightly.

"What happened down there?" She shuddered and gave his hand a squeeze.

"The Carrows, they were teaching the Cruciatus today. Shoulda known something was wrong when they didn't punish me for not using it."

Neville ran his hand through her hair blonde hair, it was taking everything he had to keep from going back and finishing off Crabbe and Goyle. Life at Hogwarts with the Carrows ruling the school had been bad but it had been getting much worse lately. Instead of the usual beatings, students were put under the Cruciatus or sent into the Forbidden Forest, speaking out against the administration and their teaching methods had the food priviledges revoked for the entire house, and if you were a repeat offender, like most of Gryffindor, they let their Death Eaters-in-training practice their curses on you.

"Got the potions, mate!" Seamus slammed the door shut behind him and fished a turquoise potion from a leather satchel, tossing it to Neville.

In a flash, he had Hannah sipping from the glass vial, and sighed in relief as her twitching and aches faded away. Kissing her knuckles and covering her with her robe, he let her drift off to sleep.

Neville grabbed Seamus by his arm and dragged him into a darkened corner.

"Seamus, get your D.A. galleon, I think it's time Hogwarts fought back."


End file.
